


The Darkness in My Eyes

by Alathe



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Belting, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia's Black Eyes, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Spanking, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 15:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23813764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alathe/pseuds/Alathe
Summary: When the adrenaline of a fight wears off, but the effects of the potions don't, what does Geralt do to calm down?  He lets Jaskier take care of him, that's what.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 411





	The Darkness in My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of being productive at work, Geralt's black eyes came to me begging for mercy. Since I'm not that heartless (usually) have this story.
> 
> I appreciate feedback.

"Geralt!"

The white-haired witcher stopped the downswing that would have impaled his dead foe, again. How many times had he stabbed the already-dead creature?

"It's dead, Geralt. Stop."

Jaskier's quiet but firm voice cut through the rage in his head. His senses told him the only living things nearby were his bard and his horse. He took a calming breath, only the slightest bit of a shudder, and relaxed his arms.

"Put that sword away and come here, Witcher."

The adrenaline from the fight had already begun seeping away, but the potions still boiled his blood, singed his mind. His hands did as he had been told without thinking about it, but he kept his back to the bard.

"You don't need to see this." he grunted. He knew what his eyes looked like; black, hollow, soulless. The black veins on his far-too-pale face set them in a mask of something horrific. The bard hadn't run from him before, but this might be the thing that finally chased him away.

"I've already seen it, Geralt, don't hide.  _ Come here _ ."

Was that commanding tone of voice new? He couldn't remember, and without focus his mind was filled with fire and fog. So he focused on that voice; on Jaskier's commands. He turned and walked back to the brunette, who stood with his hands on his hips a ways away.  _ Focus, Geralt. _ So he did, cataloging his companion as he walked toward him.

Short brown hair, impossibly blue eyes, and nearly as tall as himself, though much more slender. Hands on hips, one leg slightly forward, a position of annoyance, not attack or defense. His face was serious; not angry or unhappy, just determined. He couldn't meet those beautiful blue eyes with his own dark pits, not now. He stopped a few feet away from the gorgeous man.

" _ Here _ , Geralt." One finely shaped finger pointed to a spot about a foot and a half away from those well crafted boots on his feet. Two steps put the witcher’s own boots where that finger indicated. He waited, looking no higher than the soft blue fabric covering Jaskier's knees.

"Right here, right now, you are safe." The bard's tone was no less insistent than before, but it was softer, gentler; comforting.

"You are safe with me, Geralt. Do you understand?" He did understand. He believed the beautiful young man before him. He nodded ever so slightly.

"Do you trust me?"  _ With my very soul, _ he thought.  _ I trust you, keep me safe, keep me focused. Let it burn out of me. _ He nodded again, not trusting his words and unsure how else to respond.

Jaskier reached out and tipped Geralt's chin up, bringing their eyes in line. The witcher kept his dark eyes averted, and the bard tightened his grip a bit. Not painfully, just demanding.

"Look me in the eyes, Wolf. Let me  _ see _ ." Focusing tightly on those words, Geralt understood Jaskier was demanding to see more than just the color of his eyes. He wanted to see beyond,  _ inside _ , deep into Geralt's core, the truth, the pain, the hurt, the desire. He wanted to touch the inferno.

Slowly, as though with the force it would take to move a mountain, he shifted his eyes. The blue was like a calm ocean, a summer sky, encompassing, drowning. He would happily get lost in those eyes. Eyes full of love, compassion, and understanding. Even as he sunk into those eyes, he felt them bore into him. Could Jaskier see the flames? Would he help extinguish them? The introspection loosed another wave of pain, and Geralt grimaced.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" His voice was soft and full of concern, his grip had loosened on the witcher's chin. The pain was stronger now, and Geralt felt himself filled with angry, biting responses to the question. He grunted, meaning yes, though he couldn't bring himself to make the word.

"Better than letting that beast kick my ass." He snarled. He was used to this. Suffering to protect others, it was all part of his training, his job, his Path.

"It couldn't knock this fire out me, so I endure." He looked away again, allowing the searing heat to reclaim him. It felt like forever he stood there, waiting for a response. It was probably only a couple of seconds. He was about to turn and walk away when the musician gripped his chin again, harder than last time. Hard enough to make a human yelp, or to focus a distracted witcher. His eyes snapped back to Jaskier's.

"Knock it out of you?  _ Knock _ it out. I understand now." What did he understand? Geralt's attention was pinpoint focused again. Those blue eyes held his for a moment.

_ "Stay. Still." _ He focused on the command as Jaskier began to walk around him, loosening his armor. His bard removed the armor and walked away to put down. He relied on his acute hearing as Jaskier passed out of his peripheral vision.  _ Stay still. _ The man came back, and stopped behind him. All his senses were on edge. He knew he had nothing to fear from his companion, but  _ everything _ in him cried out at the idea of having even this trusted friend behind his back while he was like this. He heard a crack, and it took a moment to register that he had just had his bum smacked. A low chuckle bubbled up in his throat.

"Did you just slap my ass? I couldn't tell by the sound." He taunted, though he remained immobile as instructed.

He heard a thoughtful hum behind him, then the clinking of metal. The sounds of cloth and leather being shifted. Then the sharp sound of a belt snapping on itself. The amusement faded. It would take more than his pretty bard had in him, physically, to hurt the witcher with a belting, but he was certain he'd feel it much more than Jaskier's hand.  _ Stay. Still. _ It sat in his head now with the understanding of what his companion intended to do. Could he beat out the blaze? The thought settled in the back of his brain like the heaviest blanket on the coldest night.  _ Please. _ And he said nothing.

There was no grunt to warn him, no sound from the bard, just the whistle of air giving way to swinging leather, and the crack of a belt meeting a very firm ass. It still seemed to take forever for the physical sensation to reach his brain. The sting was intense. Despite what he said, the combination of his mutations and the potions made  _ everything _ in his body more sensitive. He gasped for air, trying to combat the sting across his rear without moving.

"Knock it out of you? Beat it out of you? Is that what it takes?" Jaskier's voice was quiet but very intense like a steel sword wrapped in soft cloth, as he whispered from somewhere behind Geralt's shoulder. He nodded, head moving in small jerks. His mind was awash clamoring for the heat Jaskier inflicted to burn out the conflagration inside.

Two more strokes landed with rapid succession, one on each cheek. A moan broke free of his throat as a different kind of fire kindled inside of him.

Another lash that fell across both cheeks, and he cried out, hands going instinctively to cover his buttocks. His pants were far too tight now, the only sensations he could grasp were the pain in his backside from the belt, and the discomfort of his bent-yet-swelling cock.

"Do you really want your hands in the way of the next strike, Geralt?" Demanded Jaskier, confidence and gratification ringing in his voice.

The witcher whimpered, and shook his head, hands twitching behind him.

"I need ..."

"Tell me what you require." Jaskier's warm hand fell on his shoulder, so Geralt knew there would be a reprieve from the strikes as he tried to express his urgency.

"My ..." one hand came forward to fumble at the fly on his pants. "I ..." For a moment he wasn't sure that even his mutations could keep a blush from his cheeks at this point (he would have been wrong, of course) but he was certain Jaskier could see his embarrassment.

"Please?" He whimpered.

Jaskier stepped back in front of him, and the bard's cheeks were flushed in a beautiful contrast to the rest of his skin. He took hold of Geralt's fumbling right hand, quieting it and guiding it back to his side so he could take care of the witcher's pants unhindered.

"Of course dear. Relax, and hold still." His voice was that silk-covered steel again, and Geralt's cock strained harder against the confining fabric of his breeches. He'd been commanded to hold still again, and it was so difficult. His fingers twitched, he didn't know if he wanted to try to remove his binding pants, stroke the shining hair of the man who knelt in front of him, or rub his own tender ass.

"We'll have you free in a moment, Geralt. Just focus on the sound of my voice. Hold as still as you can, and remember to breathe." How did he know just what to say? Geralt took a breath. How could his brain make these decisions at a time like this? There was new pressure on his cock, and he realized Jaskier had pulled it free of his loosened trousers, then let it bob on it's own as he pulled the black pants down over the witcher's hips. They rubbed against the inflamed flesh of his lower cheeks as they came down, and he gasped, prick twitching madly in the air. 

"Please?" Geralt repeated, automatically lifting first one foot then the other so Jaskier could remove his boots and trews.

"Please what, my Wolf?" He wanted to wrap himself up in that silky voice. 

"More?" More of the pain and pleasure you've already given; more, more, more. He looked down into those sky-blue eyes, pleading with their owner.  _ Hit me again, and again, please. _

"More?" He looked pointedly at the belt in Jaskier's hand before looking back to his eyes. The bard slowly stood up in front of him, blue eyes locked to black. Geralt felt the cool leather trail up his stomach, making his abs dance with the sensation.

"More, you say?" The bard queried, as he stepped closer, pressing his hips forward, making Geralt's cock leak. He could feel Jaskier's hardness through the blue breeches, and a tremor ran through his legs, pinning his feet to the ground. His eyes closed as another moan escaped.

“Are you sure?" Geralt nodded, eyes still closed. That hand was on his chin, again. This time, he could feel the belt against his jaw, smell the leather and the scent of the bard.

"Look at me, Geralt." He opened his eyes obediently, perhaps even eagerly, and found his gaze captured once again.

"I want to hear you, this time. No holding the sound in, no biting back the cries, do you understand?  _ I want to hear you." _ The steel in his voice brooked no room for argument. Geralt nodded so feverishly his hair fell into his face.

"Good." Jaskier pressed his hips forward again before stepping back from Geralt, leaving a moan hanging in the air between himself and the panting witcher. Geralt was pretty sure that lewd sound had come from his own lips.

"Ready?" Jaskier's voice came from behind him, and he heard the belt crack on itself again. A shiver marched up his spine, and his shoulders trembled. He nodded.

"Ooohh!" The sting flared across his ass, and a quiet moan tumbled from him. He remembered though,  _ Jaskier wanted to hear _ , and intentionally left his mouth open.

"Good." the pleased voice crooned behind him. Two more rapid strikes fell across the breadth of his rear end.

"Ah-aaaaaahh!" The witcher cried out, his own manner of song, extricated by his bard.

Without warning, there was a hand on his hip, and one on his back.

"Walk forward. You're actually pinking up quite nicely, dear. Stop. I want to ... spread the love. Bend over for me, and wrap your arms around this tree." He obeyed without question, Jaskier would take care of him, and the tree would hold him upright.  _ Why are you so good to me? _ He leaned into the tree with his shoulder, wrapping his arms around it. He couldn't touch his hands on the other side, so he dug his fingers into the rough bark, instead. Jaskier placed his hands on the witcher's hips and tapped the inside of Geralt's foot with his boot, and the white-haired man understood to widen his stance. The bard used his hands to rock Geralt's hips side to side until he was sure the man was in a stable position. 

"Remember, I want to hear you cry out." The next strike hit the spot where his ass met the top of his right thigh. It was so much more sensitive there. The sensation was like a shock straight to his cock. He didn't know what the noise he made was, but he remembered to keep his mouth open so it could escape.  _ Jaskier wants to hear _ .

A swat to the same spot at the top of his left thigh, and a high keening sound escaped, like that of a wounded prey animal. He couldn't take much more before ...

A solid blow caught both sit spots at the same time. Pleasure and pain mingled hot in his guts, a scream punched out through his mouth, his balls drew up and he painted the tree with his spend.

There were tender hands, gently touching his hips, a soft voice dancing in his consciousness. Jaskier. Telling him it was okay to let go, and dropped the chunks of wood he didn't know he'd been holding. Those hands touched him so calmly, hips, chest, neck, cheeks. Soothing thumbs danced over his eyelids as his beloved bard told him what  _ good boy _ he was. Another thing he would have blushed at.

He opened his eyes, knowing they were not back to normal yet, but maybe the ink in them was fading. Jaskier kept chattering to him, telling him how good he did, and that he would be alright. He knew he would be, he had the best bard in the world with him. He didn't pay much attention as Jaskier walked him over to where Roach was. But the bard had been busy while the witcher took care of his business, there was a fire ring with wood waiting to be lit, and their bedrolls laid out.

Geralt was sure he had the goofiest grin on his face, but he couldn't help it. Despite what had just occurred between them, the bedrolls were on either side of the fire pit, as they had been since the two had begun travelling together. 

"Lie down on your belly, dear one. I suspect that even with your witchery-ness, that's going to smart for a while yet. Easy does it." Jaskier helped him onto his bedroll. He was grateful the bard thought of these things, he probably would have plopped onto his butt and immediately regretted it.

"Bedroll?" Geralt patted the ground next to his own.

"Oh, you want to cuddle? Of course!" The bard promptly brought his bedroll and put it alongside Geralt's where they snuggled up to each other quite happily. As Jaskier lay twirling his fingers in the soft white hair on Geralt's chest, the witcher quietly said:

"If it happens again, after the belt, will you fuck me?"

"Would you like that?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Then I shall."

"Thank you, Jaskier. For everything."

"Anytime, dear Geralt. Any time." 


End file.
